


Kindling

by Novindalf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novindalf/pseuds/Novindalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wedding night. I've read a few Cat/Ned wedding night fics where the fire between them is instantly lit and burns ferociously from the start, and I wanted to write something slightly less fairytale. I didn't feel I could write this quite as dutiful as Catelyn recalls in the books without making it sound wooden, so hopefully I reached a compromise by depicting it as the stirring of what later becomes a strong and fierce relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindling

She’s thrust into a guest chamber with all the ceremony of a septon’s service and none of the restraint. The men are more controlled now they’ve deposited her before her lord husband, but there’s still the odd over-eager hand groping at her breasts or arse. Lord Eddard, she notes, looks as uncomfortable as she feels, subtly avoiding the ‘ladies’ pawing at him drunkenly. Though she has been wed to him less than an eve she frowns at them slightly.

Encouraged by Lord Eddard the revellers eventually depart – not without their fair share of bawdy japes and catcalls – and husband and wife are left alone for the first time. Catelyn fights the urge to conceal her nakedness as they look at one another across the room, and near jumps out of her skin when he suddenly starts toward her.

“They did not scare you?” he asks. She shakes her head. “Only your sister seemed...”

“Lysa is younger than I,” Catelyn replies. _And now wed to a man much older_. Jon Arryn seemed kind enough, but Lysa was just a girl, her head filled with songs and stories, and the elderly Lord of the Eyrie was no brave young knight.

“Jon will be a good husband to her,” Lord Eddard continues, as if he has guessed at her thoughts. “As I hope to be to you.” He reaches out to take her hands in his and looks her keenly in the eye. “My lady, I know that I am not the husband you thought to have,” he begins, and Catelyn is not quite sure what to say.

“My lord, I am sure I will be very happy-” she ventures, but he cuts her off.

“That is not what I meant,” he says, not unkindly, “and there is no need for false pleasantries between us, however well-intended. I mean that you have always thought you would wed my brother, and I know that it must be hard for you to now be wed to someone else so suddenly.” Catelyn is struck by the grief in his voice as he speaks of his brother, and how he troubles to comfort her when it is he who suffers the most. “I only wish to assure you that I will do my best to ensure your comfort and your happiness, and I will try to be a good husband to you.”

His words have the air of duty about them, but she is touched nonetheless. She squeezes his hands gently, and for a moment they forget where they are why they are here.

Then it becomes uncomfortably apparent and they drop hands and look away quickly. Ned clears his throat awkwardly. “Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, gesturing vaguely to the table. “Some wine, perhaps?”

Catelyn nods. “That would be nice.” It is only delaying the inevitable, but now the moment is nearing and her nerve wavering, perhaps some fortification would not go amiss.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Ned suggests, sensing her anxiety.

The imposing bed in the middle of the room is the only place to sit, and he realises this a second too late. Grateful that the dim light obscures his mortified expression he hurriedly tries to cover it up, but to his relief she nods and perches on the elaborate covers before he can stumble any further. He quickly pours out two generous goblets and then takes a seat next to her as they both drink their fill.

Once again Ned finds himself suppressing his embarrassment as duty and honour demands something else of him. “Catelyn, I understand that your lady mother died several years ago...” he begins.

Cat suspects she knows why he has brought up the subject so suddenly and swiftly intervenes. “My lord, please, you needn’t worry. I...” she hesitates, wondering how to phrase it. “I understand what must be done – what we must do – what is my-our-duty...” she trails off awkwardly, relieves when he nods his understanding.

“Very well, he says brusquely, and clears his throat. “Mayhaps we should...”

Catelyn nods, taking their goblets and setting them both aside before turning back to him. Gently he leans her back until she is resting against the pillows and then positions himself so he hovers above her. He presses his lips to hers almost shyly, and she can feel their slightly rough texture as then he kisses her more firmly. It is still more reserved than the times Brandon kissed her – but no, she mustn’t think of that now, mustn’t let ghosts crowd their marriage.

His hand at her waist is hesitant, almost as if anticipating rejection, and she realises her husband is almost as anxious as she is right now. When he ends their kiss to appraise her expression she smiles shy encouragement at him, her lord husband who neither expected his lordship, nor this marriage, and finds herself blushing a little as he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

_Are you alright?_ his face seems to ask, and she nods her reply, timidly reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm. This time when their lips meet it is less reserved, more practised, as if they are already starting to learn their way around each other’s bodies, and she scarcely jumps when his hand reaches up to her breast.

His palm is callused from handling swords and warm from the heat of the room, and she arches into his touch even as his lips against hers force her head back to the pillows. Emboldened by her encouragement he cups her breast and squeezes it gently, and then snakes his hand down to cup and squeeze her arse too. She jumps at that, and then again when she feels his hardness press against her thigh. She falls back against the bed, blushing furiously. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then firmly clamps it shut again.

He considers prolonging her embarrassment, endearing as it is, but his need persuades him otherwise. “You know what that means?” he asks gently, anxious not to frighten her. She nods quickly, avoiding his gaze. He exhales, his breath warm against her cheek. “Catelyn...”

She turns to face him slowly. “Eddard,” she replies, her shyness returned.

His hand caresses her waist. “Ned,” he corrects as she bites her lower lip anxiously, and then kisses her softly until he coaxes a smile out of her again.

“ _Ned_ ,” she repeats with a whisper, her eyes soft and trusting.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

She nods, and kisses him in reassurance, and slowly he slides himself forwards, and though there is some pain at first it is neither as acute nor as prolonged as she had been led to believe. By the time Ned spills his seed there is a strange ache building insider her which is little and less to do with pain with each of his thrusts. He shudders his release against her and when he withdraws she feels almost forlorn as the sensation ebbs away, but the shy smile that tugs at Ned’s lips and the way his fingers absently dance across her stomach reassure her that there will be ample opportunity in future.

He rolls off her and onto his side, tugging her back against him and tucking his chin over her shoulder, and they remain still for some time.

“Good night, Catelyn,” he eventually whispers, sleep settling over them both.

She shakes her head drowsily. “Cat,” she corrects softly.

He nuzzles at her neck. “ _Cat_ ,” he repeats, and she hums contentedly in her husband’s arms.


End file.
